The Long Distance Playlist

by Tara Eglington

  Nine months down the track, the lead singer of the band quit to launch a solo career. So Tobi took his share of the band’s royalties, and he and Maia bought the plot of land on the Kelvin Peninsula.

  ‘And we’ve been here ever since,’ Tobi says. ‘Our little piece of paradise, I guess.’

  They always kiss at the end of the story. Taylor covers his eyes at that part because he thinks kissing is gross. I haven’t made up my mind about kissing yet.

  Tobi and Maia’s stories aren’t like the ones my parents tell their friends – the tale where Dad lost our passports in Hawaii, or Mum backed her BMW into Dad’s Audi. Mum or Dad always look annoyed at the end of those stories, and they don’t kiss.

  Although when they’re around Maia and Tobi, they’re different. Or really, Mum is. She’s the mum who plays Twister with us, screaming with laughter as she winds her forearm back behind her and around me, so she can put her right hand on blue!

  She sings too. Tobi gets out the acoustic guitar most nights. The sun doesn’t go down in Queenstown until 10pm in the summer, so after dinner we all hang out in the yard. Taylor and I lie in the hammock together, or sit on the swings at the edge of the property, pretending we’re flying out onto Lake Wakatipu, because the drop-off at the end of the yard makes it feel that way.

  Mum and Tobi sing a lot of Jeff Buckley because his album was big back when they were studying music together. Sometimes she and Tobi sing ‘Hallelujah’, and even though I know it’s a sad song, I love hearing it. It makes me feel happy and sad at the same time.

  Taylor says that’s silly to say because those two emotions are totally different to each other, but Tobi says that I’m spot on, that there’s a word for that exact feeling – bittersweet – and that’s what Jeff Buckley is singing about.

  I don’t say that I feel that same way when I watch Mum singing sometimes. I never hear her sing back home.

  Sometimes after Tobi and Mum sing, they talk about their memories of music school, and Tobi inevitably drags out a photo album, and Mum and Maia laugh and groan over Mum’s old clothes. After the photos come out, so do the Spotify throwbacks – and Mum and Dad and Maia and Tobi dance around the lounge room. They dance until they’re out of breath and say they’re getting old and unfit and they all collapse onto the sofas.

  I think of how it’s going to feel to be back there in seven months. So tonight, instead of listening to Mum and Dad fighting through the wall for the millionth time, I close my eyes and put in my earbuds. I listen to ‘Last Goodbye’ and pretend the guitar in the track is Tobi strumming. I swing my left leg out from under the end of the sheet and off the side of the bed to touch the tip of my toe to the floor, the way I always did when Taylor and I used to lie in the hammock on the deck. I pretend I’m pushing us off so we swing from side to side, our shoulders bumping as we elbow each other for more space.

  I can almost convince myself that all I can hear is music and laughter.

  From: taylor_hellemann@gmail.com

  To: IsoldeByrne@hotmail.com

  Sent: Thursday 15 November, 10:54pm

  Subject: So, when are we going to video-chat again?!?

  The more I talk to you, the more I need to talk to you.

  We can have a long conversation, and I think we’ve talked about everything and I’m totally content, so we hang up . . . and then half an hour, or an hour later, I want to pick up the phone and go back for more.

  I hope I’m not freaking you out, admitting to that.

  Seriously though, it would be fun to skype again soon. I know you’re flat out with rehearsals for Sleeping Beauty right now (I think Mum said your end-of-year show is only 2.5 weeks away?!) so let me know what works for you time-wise.

  Instant Messenger Conversation

  Friday 16 November, 6:43pm

  Isolde Byrne: Seriously, Ana, I’m starting to think there’s a higher power out there with a warped sense of humour, because the irony of this production of Sleeping Beauty, specifically Act 2, is messed up.

  Isolde Byrne: i.e. me as the Lilac Fairy, whose whole purpose in this act is to appear in front of melancholy Prince Desire (aka Aidan) and reveal to him a beautiful vision of Princess Aurora (aka Steff). Having Aidan follow me across the stage, a dozen times over, so he can get closer to Aurora, a ‘vision of pure and deep love!’ (as Ms Morris keeps shouting out) is just . . . ugh.

  Isolde Byrne: Sorry for mass-IMing :( :( :( Just not coping so well right now because 1) we’ve rehearsed this same scene for three hours today (in Ms Morris’s words, ‘something’s off about it’), and 2) Ms Morris just called a break right after telling me my facial expression was ‘angry’. Cue smothered laughter from all the other dancers in the studio.

  Isolde Byrne: I thought I was getting better at this, you know? I want to focus on ballet. I thought I was doing that. But as I’m dancing away, thinking I’m ignoring Aidan and Steff and their goo-goo eyes at each other, my anger is obviously still seeping through – literally – seeing as Ms Morris just stopped the rehearsal.

  Isolde Byrne: Oh no. She just told me she wants to see me after we wrap up today. FUUUUDDDGGGE.

  Isolde’s Mobile

  Ana

  Friday 16 November, 7:31pm

  Missed call

  7:52pm

  Missed call

  8:39pm

  I’m stressing about you . . . call me back! :( :(

  Instagram DM Conversation

  Saturday 17 November, 8:15am

  Ana Zhang: What happened with Ms Morris?! I was freaking out after I saw your messages.

  Isolde Byrne: Do you mind if we don’t talk about it? Short story is, I’m still in the show. She just needs me to work harder.

  Ana Zhang: Did you tell her you’ve spent every spare second in your studio these last three months?

  Isolde Byrne: I guess that’s not enough. You know what it’s like.

  Ana Zhang: Yeah :( :(

  Isolde Byrne: She says I’m overthinking every step. I didn’t know what to say back. That after the audition, I started second-guessing myself and it spiralled from there?

  Ana Zhang: It’s just a phase, don’t stress. You’re an amazing dancer, and Ms Morris knows that. She’s just trying to help.

  Isolde Byrne: I better go. Listen, if I’m MIA the next few weeks, it’s because I’m knuckling down.

  Ana Zhang: Is, you don’t need to explain this stuff to me. This is ballet, I get it.

  Instant Messenger Conversation

  Sunday 18 November, 3:40pm

  Finn Williams: GUESS WHO I BUMPED INTO IN THE BAKERY? Ellie.

  Taylor Hellemann: And?

  Finn Williams: Dude, I KNOW YOU. Right now, you’re trying to be all uber-chill about this, and you’re so not.

  Taylor Hellemann: Um, I am. So you saw her. I don’t get how that’s any different than passing by the chocolate shop.

  Finn Williams: It’s different because SHE STRAIGHT-UP smiled at me and said, ‘Hey.’

  Taylor Hellemann: Don’t you think you’re building this up a bit?

  Finn Williams: I’m BUILDING IT UP because she THEN said, ‘I haven’t seen you guys at the shop for a while.’ She MISSED US, MAN. I told you it was stupid to stop going in after Slash’s meltdown.

  Taylor Hellemann: She’s probably missing the tips you used to leave on the table for her.

  Finn Williams: LET ME FINISH THE STORY ALREADY. The next thing she says is: ‘Your friend, what’s his name?’ As in the girl doesn’t even know MY NAME, but she’s interested in yours. And I say, ‘Taylor, he works at the store two doors up,’ and she says, ‘Outdoor gear, right?’ And I start running through a sales pitch about the store’s climbing/hiking/snow gear, and how you were an expert in all of it, and how everyone should shop there (meaning SHE SHOULD) in amongst some random spiel about GOOSE-DOWN insulation.

  Taylor Hellemann: Oh man.

  Finn Williams: DON’T JUDGE. You know how hot she is, it’s DISTRACTING. I did well to manage so many words. AND THEN Y
OU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?

  Taylor Hellemann: Something about goose down being exceptionally warm yet incredibly lightweight?

  Finn Williams: Something BETTER. She said, ‘The jacket I brought over from Canada is on its last legs. Maybe I’ll have to go into the store sometime and see what they have.’ And I swear ON MY ACTUAL LIFE that her cheeks went a bit pink.

  Taylor Hellemann: She might have just been flushed because she felt PRESSURED to say she’d visit the store after you ranted for five minutes about how great it is.

  Finn Williams: Dude, be a little more psyched! Anyway, I said, ‘You totally should. Taylor would be happy to give you a discount.’

  Taylor Hellemann: FINN! I don’t have the say on discounts, ROB DOES. As in, the manager.

  Finn Williams: I then said, ‘Why don’t you come with me now? Taylor’s working today. There’re some great spring sales on at the moment.’

  Taylor Hellemann: I’m going to tell Rob he should hire you for promotions.

  Finn Williams: Yeah, he should. ELLIE FOLLOWED ME RIGHT TO THE STORE.

  Taylor Hellemann: You’re kidding me.

  Finn Williams: NOW you sound more excited. Anyway, it was majorly awkward when Ellie and I rocked up and you weren’t there – Jared was.

  Taylor Hellemann: Did he hit on her? Actually, don’t answer that, I KNOW HE DID. He did the ‘we don’t have that jacket in your size at the moment, but I can give you a call when it comes in, let me just get your number’ line?

  Finn Williams: Yup. To Ellie’s credit, she didn’t give him her number, she only signed up to the mailing list because he said she’d get notified of sales and specials.

  Taylor Hellemann: If that email contained her first and last name, he’s already found her on Instagram. He usually locks in a date within a week of sliding into DMs.

  Finn Williams: Don’t give up, man. Ellie said she’d pop back another time, which I bet means, ‘So I can see Taylor.’

  Taylor Hellemann: Thanks for trying, dude. I appreciate it.

  DECEMBER

  From: taylor_hellemann@gmail.com

  To: IsoldeByrne@hotmail.com

  Sent: Saturday 1 December, 11:20am

  Subject: Everything okay?

  Hope you don’t think I’m being stalker-ish . . . just haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, so just checking in . . .

  If you’re busy, that’s cool. Just wanted to make sure no tsunamis had risen anew. Hope Mr Imbecile’s not giving you any grief.

  X Tay

  From: IsoldeByrne@hotmail.com

  To: taylor_hellemann@gmail.com

  Sent: Saturday 1 December, 9:22am

  Subject: RE: Everything okay?

  Hey Tay,

  I’m sorry :( I’ve been hopeless with texts and emails lately – the last few weeks have been nuts. My only excuse is that tonight’s the opening night of Sleeping Beauty.

  I’d send you a picture of my feet to prove I’ve been dancing 24/7 since we last spoke, but trust me, you don’t want to see the things. I’m missing two toenails and have given up counting blisters.

  Can we video-chat tonight after the show? :) :)

  From: taylor_hellemann@gmail.com

  To: IsoldeByrne@hotmail.com

  Sent: Saturday 1 December, 2:16pm

  Subject: Tonight’s a yes

  Taylor

  Saturday 1 December

  The hours before Issy and I are due to video-chat drag on FOREVER. So I decide to finally clear out a bunch of old stuff from my room.

  By ‘stuff’, I mean ratty-looking shirts and half-a-dozen parts for computers I don’t own any more. And all the Natalia-related things I haven’t had the guts to throw out after our breakup. The ones I buried in a box, right at the back of my wardrobe.

  As I open the box, I spot the tickets from the first movie we saw together and one of her scarves that still smells of her perfume – Black Orchid. I only remember the name because I bought her the bottle. Back then, I thought the perfume smelled like her – mysterious and sexy. Now it just smells . . . loud.

  I drop the scarf into the box for the charity shop.

  The gift she gave me in return isn’t in the box of stuff, it’s facedown against the back of the cupboard. It’s one of her modelling shots blown up on canvas.

  I turn the canvas over and study the photo for a minute. It’s the first time in over a year that I’ve seen the thing. I wait for the feelings to come over me. The old ‘double-over from heartbreak’ blow, the reason I’d hidden the photo last October.

  But looking at this photo now, is like looking at a girl in a magazine or an ad. It doesn’t feel like it used to – when this image would seemingly come alive whenever I stared at it. I’d put emotion into those eyes, convinced myself Natalia’s smile was all for me.

  I put the canvas to the side so I can get to the stuff at the very back of the cupboard. I can see my last pair of snowboard boots next to my black-and-white board. For a second, I think about pulling both items out of the cupboard and selling them on eBay because it’s not like they’re of any use to me now.

  But I don’t. I leave them there and shut the cupboard.

  I put Natalia’s picture over by the box of things that need to go. I’ll take it out to the bin tomorrow. If I put this stuff in tonight, Dad or Mum will spot the canvas when they take out the dinner scraps, and I’m sure to get some totally non-subtle congrats about ‘clearing out old stuff’.

  I don’t want to micro-analyse moving on. I just want to do it.

  I’m hoping Issy and I will be able to chat for a while tonight, so I want to skype her off my laptop. I set it further back from me on the bed and prop it up on a pillow past my feet. There’s only one issue with the set-up . . .

  You can see my legs. And I took off my prosthesis hours ago.

  I always find it weird that some people think I wear the thing all the time. That I sleep with it on. I don’t, of course.

  A prosthesis is like a pair of sneakers – they fit well, they’re comfortable to get around in, but you’re going to want to take them off eventually. I kind of feel this ‘ahhh’ moment when I remove it, especially if I’ve done a lot of walking that day, or the weather’s been stinking hot.

  My stump gets really sweaty because of all the heat and perspiration that gets trapped in the socket – after all, there’s nowhere else for it to go. Sometimes I get rashes or ingrown hairs. The odd blister, once in a while, if my skin has accidentally rubbed up badly against the socket.

  Tonight, I have an itchy red-and-white heat rash, so I really don’t feel like putting the thing back on again.

  I need a way to skype Issy without my leg on show.

  I try stacking up a few pillows so the laptop is positioned higher, but it doesn’t work. So I put the sheet from the end of my bed over my legs, and I prop a pillow where my right calf would have been. I check my laptop camera to see what it looks like, and nothing seems off. It just looks like I’m sitting on top of my bed, pillows here and there around me.

  It’s nearly midnight when I skype her. Or at least I think it is. I’m so eager to chat with Issy that I totally space on the time difference between NZ and Oz, meaning 12am my time is 10pm in Sydney.

  I call during the show. I don’t know that, of course, until she picks up and I see her there, tutu-clad, with half-a-dozen ballerinas in the background. She’s obviously backstage, and the show is far from over.

  I look at the clock on my bedroom wall, realise my mistake and say a swear word before I can stop myself.

  ‘Nice greeting.’ Issy raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Time difference!’ I pretend to hit myself over the head. ‘Sorry, Goldie, I’ll call back later.’

  ‘Wait – we just started intermission before the third act. I can chat for a sec.’ Issy moves away from the other ballerinas so she’s standing underneath a mirror surrounded by lights.

  That’s when I notice what she’s wearing for the first time, because all the tiny sequins scatt
ered here and there on her tutu catch the light. The tutu’s skirt is layers of fabric that look like soft petals in every shade of purple. Two violet wings stretch behind her, and she’s crowned with flowers of the same colour.

  ‘You look like a lupin,’ I blurt out.

  ‘Thanks, I think?’ Issy is smiling. Even her irises, which are blue, look purplish.

  ‘You remember they’re my favourite, right?’

  I should have said ‘you look beautiful’, but that doesn’t seem enough of a compliment – not for the way she looks tonight.

  She nods, the dimple in her cheek deepening. ‘I’m technically meant to be a lilac. Five letters, starts with L – you were almost there.’

  ‘Remember that day?’

  ‘’Course I do.’

  I don’t need to shut my eyes to think of it, the way you have to sometimes in order to summon up certain old memories. This one’s so vivid it’s right there in front of me, just as real as Issy is on the screen.

  The lilac tones in her dress transform into a field of lupins. The flowers stretch across the field down from an old stone-walled church, which Dad says is called The Church of the Good Shepherd.

  Goldie and I aren’t interested in the church. It can’t compete with the lupins. There’re hundreds of the wildflowers all along the Tekapo lakefront – lavender and pink and white – bowing to each other in the breeze.

  The lupins are up to our chests. We sink down to our knees in them, almost completely hidden from each other.

  Dad wanders over to join us, and so does Uncle Bill. I love when he visits. It doesn’t happen that often as he’s always off on ‘assignments’ – meaning he travels all around the world taking photographs. But even when he’s with us, on holiday, he always has a camera hanging from his neck.

  Today’s the same. I look over his shoulder as he lines up his next shot. He snaps Goldie, and the picture appears for a split second on the screen of the camera before he takes another.